


Silver Platter

by bigOwlEngery (Hecatetheviolet)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A Bit of Blasphemy, A Leitner Made Them Do It (The Magnus Archives), Altered Mental States, Biting, Bodily Fluids, Body Horror, Body Worship, Cunnilingus, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Dubious Consent, Fanon-Typical Elias Worshipping Jon, Food Porn, Hard vore, He/Him Pronouns For Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Impregnation Fetish, Jon is just Honey, Lactation, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Regency Values, Religion Kink, Sexy Leitner Week (The Magnus Archives), Transformation, Vore, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28596603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hecatetheviolet/pseuds/bigOwlEngery
Summary: Elias’ appetite has been driving him to distraction, lately.It’s Jon’s fault for whetting it, naturally. Elias has always Known that Jon is weak to sensuality and hedonism to an adorable degree, and he has been looking forward to impressing the merits of that upon him for a long, long time. It is his own cultivation that has ripened Jon, opened his mind and educated his body in the ways of fear. It would only be fair of Jonah to educate him in the arts of pleasure and indulgence, as well.Or, Elias has his cake and eats it, too.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 11
Kudos: 50





	Silver Platter

**Author's Note:**

> This work is for Sexy Leitner week day 2: Bite! The prompt is from the wonderful Leitner Generator and is a Hard Vore + Lactation Leitner (Flesh) based on the pre-made prompt "... turns the flesh of the reader (or someone else) into something edible and delicious, like ripe peaches, and causes them to regenerate rapidly."
> 
>  _The Faithful Shall be Provided with Milk and Honey_ is a prayer book that when read from transforms the reader’s body into food. Their flesh becomes honeycomb, their organs fruits, and they begin to lactate. While in this transformed state, they experience sensual pleasure from being consumed and heal quickly, endlessly producing food. The effects end when consumption ceases for longer than a minute. After effects include lightheadedness, dizzy spells, fatigue, and soreness equivalent to the amount of flesh consumed from the victim’s body.
> 
> Terms used for nonbinary AFAB Jon are cunt, clit, and breasts. AMAB Elias' terms are dick and cock.
> 
> See end notes for detailed description of cw.

Elias’ appetite has been driving him to distraction, lately.

It’s Jon’s fault for whetting it, naturally. Jonah should be thanking the Web for introducing the promising debuntente on its arm and then leaving them alone in the parlor together in the same sentence that he curses it for tempting him so. It may also be a natural consequence; it is his own cultivation that has ripened Jon, opened his mind and educated his body in the ways of fear. It would only be fair of Jonah to educate him in the arts of pleasure and indulgence, as well. Perhaps, then, there is no singular figure to bear the blame for Elias’ growing lust. His tastes always have been a bit mercurial.

 _“The Faithful Shall be Provided with Milk and Honey?”_ Jon reads out, a condescending wrinkle to his nose as he weighs the thin book in his hands. He isn’t one for religion. Neither is Elias, though he does have a penchant for worship. It’s something of a joke, but Jon has no need for the punchline.

“An old favorite of mine.” Elias offers.

Jon shoots a quick glare up to him before opening the book to the title page. There is no book plate, of course. This book predates Jurgen Leitner, and has been kept out of the hands of amateurs.

“As glad as I am to see you taking such basic precautions, Jon, there is no need to fear. This will simply help you to understand your place among the powers more keenly.” Elias tells him.

Jon blinks, just the once, then raises his head slowly to stare into Elias’ eyes. He represses a shiver at the intensity.

“A _prayer book_ will do so?” he asks, a champagne fizz to his words that ignites something deep in Jonah, and he fails to even want to stop this particular shiver. The dull, unimpressed tone his Archivist takes with him only adds to it. The school-teacher raise of his brow, the glint of his glasses in the soft lighting of Jonah’s dining room, the exact purse of his lips. A familiar and well gazed-upon picture of budding disappointment. Elias takes some joy in arranging things to produce it when work has been going slow in the office.

“What god does it proclaim worship of?” Elias parries, lifting his sherry to his lips. Jon had refused his own aperitif. This matters not; tonight is about Elias’ indulgences, anyway.

Jon huffs out a sigh and refrains from rolling his eyes. But he opens the book— and, _oh_ , how he holds it. Those clever hands that have been touching all of Jonah’s most horrific statements without flinching ease open the little book and hold it tilted sweetly in his lap. Ankles tucked together, invisible under the drape of his long skirt, posture prim and perfect, glasses set just so. Settled at the edge of his seat, refusing to relax into it in Elias’ presence. So clean and neat and proper. Elias sips his drink slowly, watches Jon’s eyes glide over the page, sweeping through the Latin verse without pause.

“Aloud, please,”

Those eyes flick to him again.

“Indulge me?” Elias murmurs in supplication over the lip of his glass.

Jon’s dark stare informs Elias that he should expect disappointment, but he’s come to place a lot of expectations on Jon’s shoulders, these days.

Jon clears his throat, and he begins to read. Of course he does; his Archivist does not often back down from a challenge, and he _is_ already here. For all his verbal tirades on the matter, Jonah Knows well that he had chosen to attend Elias’ dinner invitation as soon as he had read the words.

Really, Jon is far too easy prey, sometimes. It’s one of his best qualities.

The verses flow from his Archivist’s tongue like the poetry of it was written just for him. Meant to be heard in this clear recitation in Elias’ dining hall, lifting through the high ceiling. Elias begins slowly rolling up his sleeves as he basks in the sound, expectation keeping him from moving so much as an inch from his own seat at the table.

It wouldn’t do for Jon to see his arousal, after all.

His Archivist makes it farther than any other readers have; he’s nearly to the halfway point in the verses before his voice stutters between the lines, and he draws in a sharp breath, going abruptly silent.

Elias sets his empty glass down. Watches.

Jon’s face slowly creases in confusion, a mild expression of perturbation easing into his full brows and fuller lips. The same face he used to make when encountering a poorly structured sentence in another language before the Beholding expanded his mind. He blinks, swallows, hovers a hand over the pages as if to turn them, but never quite makes it.

“Elias?” he finally says, his voice coming out lost and small among his slowly growing alarm. The rising swell of his fear is a wonderful hors d'oeuvres. Elias was correct in his pairing.

“Is there a problem, Jon?” Elias asks gently, rising from his seat. The marble dining floor is silent under his feet as he makes his way to Jon’s side where Elias seated him at the head of the table.

“I—I don’t,” his Archivist tries admirably, he really does. He remembers himself without Elias’ intervention this time, and the pull of his power gives Elias a sharp thrill of pleasure. If he hadn’t been aroused from the anticipation, he certainly is now.

Getting to watch Jon curl his tongue into a whip is the highest honor Jonah’s had bestowed upon him in his long, long life.

_“What have you done?”_

Elias shudders under the blissful command and lets the truth flow out. No point in withholding, considering the state Jon is about to be in.

“I’ve done nothing at all, Jon. Honestly, you are far too suspicious. You saw how I kept my hands to myself tonight.” Elias spreads his hands, offering his gloved palms, empty as they are, to Jon’s scrutiny.

Jon glares, a look Elias adores on him. It’s just as lovely with a soft haze to it as it is sober. “ _What did you use this book to do to me?_ ” Though his intensity has grown, his power comes out weaker, less pointed, and his fear has begun to fade into something more agreeable.

“It’s made you delicious.” Elias tells him, reaching out slowly to take the offending piece of literature from Jon’s trembling hands and set it aside. Jon startles enough at his answer to allow it, blinking up at him wildly, eyes owlish behind his glasses.

“What?”

“How do you feel? What made you stop reading, Jon?” Elias teases.

“I…” Jon trails off, staring at Elias’ mouth blankly. One of his hands begins to rise before he appears to catch it and startles back. Like he hadn’t noticed how close Elias stands, how far in he is leaning.

Elias takes his chair by the arms and turns it further from the table. Kneels slowly to the floor. Jon watches him with wide eyes, mouth a little open until Elias offers him a smile and it snaps shut.

“No, no,” he murmurs and captures Jon’s loose hand, guiding it to follow it original trajectory to his chest. “What are you feeling, Jon?” Jon is lost somewhere in that over-busy mind of his, analyzing sensation, rolling through the catalogue of Leitners he has access to, panicking, as he always does. Running into the new impulses that Leitner has embedded in him, and getting lost in those paths instead of following the map to the answer. This leaves him pliant and confused enough to allow Elias to press his hand against his breast, to roll the pressure of it around his nipple.

Jon cries out, then stares down at the wet patches of fluid staining his blouse. Elias presses again, coaxing out another gush of milk.

“Wha— what,” Jon croaks, though his thighs jump as he clenches them tightly together in his seat. Rips his hand out from under Elias’ to hover them both over his chest. It is quite the ample specimen. Well suited to nursing, and the pastoral temperament of the act would suit Jon well, in Elias’ opinion. His Archivist could do with a bit of domestication.

“It— I’m too much,” Jon stutters, growing distressed and looking to Elias for relief. “There’s too much, I need to, to…” he stares at Elias’ mouth again, a pinch to his brows that reads as confusion as to why Elias is simply not using it to take what he needs from Jon. His pupils are swollen, his dark eyes gone fully hazy and soft. No more hesitation.

_Wonderful._

Elias guides Jon’s hands to the armrests of the chair, wrapping his fingers there until he weakly grips it. Those dark eyes slip closed and he takes in a deep breath when Elias cups his breasts firmly, supporting the heft of them as he slowly coaxes Jon’s nipples free of his bra and tugs on them through his blouse. Milk spurts out in thick streams, soaking the fabric through quickly, warm even through Elias’ gloves. Jon moans quietly on the exhale, relaxing bonelessly into the chair, going soft under Elias’ hands.

“My goodness, Jon, you’re an incredible mess tonight.” Elias teases, releasing his breasts in favor of undoing his top button. One of them slips back down into the cup of his bra. “Let me help you out of these wet clothes. It simply won’t do for you to continue ruining them.”

“Elias,” Jon says, his hands clutching onto Elias’ elbows, stilling him at the collar. Jon’s buttons are done up to his throat, the single one that’s been released showing the top of his collarbone, a few more lines of his worm scars. The starched white fabric frames the bob of his throat as he swallows.

“Elias.” he says again, voice low and firm, the haze of the Leitner eased somewhat under his power. Elias meets his gaze, finds his stare dark and hooded and deep. He pops another button open.

“Yes, Jon?” Another button.

Jon’s hands tighten for a moment. Unblinking. Elias holds his breath.

“ _The Faithful Shall be Rewarded_ … are you the faithful?” his accusation is the toll of a bell, unfocused and pounding oceanic through the open room. Elias’ cock throbs.

“ _Yes._ ” he moans. “Won’t you let me worship you, Jon?” Another button. The plush curves of his cleavage make Elias’ mouth water.

“Elias.” Jon says, and Elias stops. His hands fall away to the rests of the chair, leaving Elias bereft. “ _Are you faithful to me?_ ”

“ _Yes!_ Only you, my Archivist, only you have my faith.” Elias dives into his promised feast, tearing at Jon’s buttons frantically, pulling his prim white clothing out of the way. Bites in deep to the luscious flesh. Jon cries out beautifully.

The flesh under Elias’ teeth splits and parts, a heavy, slick sound filling every corner of the room as he tears away a small chunk of Jon, thick strings of honey breaking between his lips and Jon’s heaving chest. The hole left behind reveals a dark hollow, an inch of comb where his flesh should be. A wound where Elias has eaten of him.

Elias pulls his blouse and bra down completely, bites into him again and again, lower and softer each time until he reaches one dark, swollen nipple, and this he takes into his mouth tenderly. Jon’s milk is as rich as cream, heavy and warm. Jon is moaning softly, hiccuping little noises, as Elias trails his tongue back up to suck at the edges of the first bite. It’s nearly healed already, which just won’t do.

He teases softly at the edges of the open wound with his teeth for more, runs his tongue over the rivulets of honey that eke out. Hooks a finger inside the wound and tugs fresh comb free. Jon gasps with each touch, his back arching, pressing his chest into Elias’ face for more. Elias has never withheld pleasure from him before, and he is not about to start.

He thrusts his tongue into the opening of the largest hole, sucks curiously at where Jon’s collarbone is revealed. Finds it soft and chalky, a rich mineral flavor to it, and breaks it off with a careful bite. It’s sticky with the honey of his flesh, but so is Elias’ face when he sits back on his heels, looking up at Jon. Savoring the sight.

His wonderful little Archivist is panting, half open chest heaving with his wet breaths. Shirt down around his elbows and skirt pushed up, both hands clutching tight to the arms of the dining chair. He looks a mess. Elias cradles one of his swollen breasts, a thin stream of milk leaking between his fingers, pale against the leather of his glove. The other pets softly at Jon’s thigh, easing his pliant legs open further as it disappears under the thick woolen fabric of his skirt.

Jon’s eyes are heavy lidded and unfocused as he gazes at Elias knelt before him. Lamplight lights up the exposed cells like tiny windows, makes the honey leaking from the slowly closing wounds glitter gold. His skin pulls slowly back over them in thin sheets of satin.

“Elias,” he whimpers, voice all wet. Soft. Shaken with need. Elias soothes his thumb over Jon’s nipple, teasing out more milk, and he moans quietly, lashes fluttering. His legs part just a little more. Elias has always Known that Jon is weak to sensuality and hedonism to an adorable degree, and he has been looking forward to impressing the merits of that upon him for a long, long time.

“Embrace it, Jon.” he encourages, leaning in to press a sticky kiss to Jon’s knee. Slides his hand fully into Jon’s skirt and caresses his knuckles over the slit of him. If he’s wet, Elias can’t tell through the glove. But then again, he doesn’t have to feel it to know the truth. “The effects won’t end for a while yet. Just allow me to help you enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I—that isn’t what you need, this isn’t necessary…” Jon trails off weakly, his hips hitching the slightest bit as Elias applies a bit more pressure. The texture there is different, and Elias is keen to see what his cunt has become.

“Oh, I can’t imagine anything more necessary, Jon. It would be an incredible waste to ignore such a fine spread. Here, let me show you,” Elias releases his breast with one last gentle pull of his nipple, then grips him under the thighs and pulls him to the edge of the chair. Jon’s hands scramble at the arm rests and he whimpers, as delightfully responsive as always.

Elias tugs down his underwear, then raises his brows when black silk comes out from under the skirt.

“Really, Jon?” he asks, delighted, smirking up at his recalcitrant Archivist. Jon scowls at him, embarrassed, though it isn’t as acute as it could be, with none of the mortification Elias knows he would feel otherwise. He shifts his knees as though he could pull himself from Elias’ hold. He didn’t stand a chance to begin with, and now that the flesh beneath Elias’ fingers is soft with honey, he’s even more helpless than usual. But still, there’s defiance mingling with the haze in his eyes, and his mouth has twisted in a mulish little moue. It’s adorable, really.

“I didn’t exactly dress for being eaten today, Elias. It would be better to get my clothing out of the way for easier access.” his Archivist says, all ration and utilitarian logic.

Elias smiles at him, looping the garment around one of his legs to remove it entirely. “So you chose to wear such a lovely outfit for our dinner meeting purely on coincidence, then?”

Jon glares at him and absolutely pouts for a moment before rallying.

“T—there is nothing suggestive about my outfit,” he protests as firmly as he can manage with Elias between his knees. “And there is nothing suggestive about this situation. I just need to feed you, that’s all.” he stutters over his insistence, already thoroughly flushed and debauched.

Indeed, Elias will grant, there should not be anything coquettish to his dress. But the silhouette his long, modest skirt and neat blouse made gave Elias a little shot of nostalgia. Now, with the shirt only on by the barest of definitions and that heavy skirt rucked up to expose him fully, the outfit is giving Elias a different sort of response. He is a red blooded man, after all; it’s really only to be expected.

“Oh, I believe that there is, Jon. More than a little beyond suggestive, from my point of view.” Elias resettles Jon’s legs in his hold, spreads him wide open. Uses one hand to spread the lips of his cunt open wide. Spends a long moment staring at the ripe peach flesh inside.

He leans in curiously, losing sight of Jon past the veil of his skirt, breathing in the rich scent of honey and something a bit more acidic. Jon’s thighs jump as he gasps.

“E—elias don’t —”

“Don’t what?” he breathes, setting his mouth at the very beginning of the split in the peach. His clit is already swollen. When he grazes his teeth there, Jon jolts sharply, moaning. “It’s almost like you _don’t_ want to be eaten.”

“I—I do— _oh_!” Elias cuts off his token protest with a firm bite to the softness of his labia. Honey runs down from the deep mark, and Elias spreads it over Jon’s slit with his tongue. Jon’s hands wind tightly into his hair and pull as he hitches his hips into Elias’ smirking mouth. He flattens his tongue and does it again, swirling around the nub of his clit. He pulls back for a moment to let more honey gather before slowly forcing his tongue into the slit. The fuzzy peach skin bursts and the ripe flesh parts wet and soft for him. Jon cries out beautifully. The scent of peaches fills his lungs.

Jon is getting honey in Elias’ hair from how hard he’s gripping, moaning openly and squirming enthusiastically. Elias has always loved listening to the noises he makes over the tapes, but this is another level entirely. And the opportunity to draw them out himself while making such a delightful mess of Jon is absolutely narcotic. Jon wears dishabille so well, and Elias does love his messes. A perfect pairing, really.

“Wonderful,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to watch Jon’s face as he strokes a finger inside instead. Juice and honey run down freely, staining the velvet of Elias’ chair, but some sacrifices are meant to be made. Jon swallows hard, hands frozen where they grip Elias’ hair, dark eyes trained on Elias’ hand as he cleans his finger with his mouth.

“Now Jon, you know meals are meant to be taken at the table. Why don’t you help me get you properly situated?”

“D—don’t be _coy_ about it— I, I just need you to hurry up and eat me already.”

“I know,” Elias soothes, reaching back under the bunched fabric of his skirt to push into the comb of his belly until it gives, hooking his fingers into the meat of it and pushing into the hollow cavity of his abdomen. Jon’s eyes roll before he shuts them, panting hotly. “You need to be eaten, don’t you? Poor thing, I’ll get you fixed up here in just a moment.” He thrusts his fist slowly in and out a few times, just to hear the wet noise of it, to enjoy the way Jon’s body bows and heaves with the rhythm Elias fucks into him with. The noises that spill from his lips. The drip of him.

Jon whimpers as Elias releases him and stands. His glove drips an obscene amount of honey on the tiles. Jon stays pliant, docile as Elias embraces him to finish removing his blouse and untagles his bra. Then he hooks his arms under Jon and sits him at the head of the dining table. In this position, it’s much easier to undo the fussy little buttons on his skirt and slip it off. The little silk slip he had on underneath is already badly stained. Pity, Elias would have liked to see him in that, and that alone. But it joins the small pile of sticky clothing on the marble as he continues to attend to his ailing Archivist.

“Please,” Jon is panting, squeezing at his own breast, making milk dribble in uneven droplets. The holes in his throat and chest have closed, as though they never existed. “ _Please_ _eat me_ _._ ”

“Of course, darling,” Elias says, and ducks his head to take a nipple into his mouth, holding Jon steady as his back arcs beautifully. Jon settles around him, hands back in his hair, legs curling close but not quite wrapping. Making the sweetest noises in a steady rhythm as Elias drinks from him. The milk, of course, does not dry up. There is no end to what Jon can provide in this state. Still, he whines when Elias leaves his nipple with a kiss, though the sound turns low when he captures Jon’s mouth instead. His lips have the plush give of fig flesh. Elias smears honey and juices and milk into Jon’s mouth.

It’s messy. It’s delightful.

It isn’t enough for Jon. He loses the rhythm of the kiss in favor of sticking his tongue in Elias’ mouth without any finesse or pretence. Elias teases with his teeth, but doesn’t bite like Jon whines for him to. He can’t detect what Jon’s tongue has become. It’s as prehensile and soft as the rest of his body, despite the lack of muscle or tissue.

When Elias bites, it crunches like thick plant matter. Jon moans loudly, then drools a thick, clear slime that strings heavily between their mouths when Elias retreats.

Aloe vera. Not something Elias has dined on as of yet. Coming from Jon, it is divine. It is remarkably similar in texture to his honey, but watery and fresh in contrast to the overabundance of saccharine richness that comprises the rest of him. Elias savors Jon on his tongue for a moment too long, and his Archivist pulls at him impatiently, hands and legs and soft, hot breaths that carry the scent of fresh figs. He stays limp in Elias’ hold but rolls his head just enough to force eye contact, and he is all eyes.

Elias wants to taste every inch of him.

“Lie back, and I’ll eat you like a feast,” he growls in Jon’s ear, releasing him. Grips the table hard to keep his hands off. His Archivist shudders and slowly, one elbow at a time, lowers himself to fill Elias’ place setting. He’s panting hard, refusing to break his dark eyed stare with Elias, but still he goes down. Does it painstakingly, like there is some sort of resistance in him yet, even as he parts his legs and finally lays his shoulders on Elias’ table. His chest heaves slowly as he holds Elias in his gaze, a firm, determined sort of expression on his face. His throat bobs once. His hair shifts as he moves, settling into a halo of spun sugar around him.

“Hurry up, then,” he says, breathless and defiant, a lisp to the words from his healing tongue. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

Elias beams at him, face a mess of sweet slick. “I’ll gladly lend you my coat, my dear.”

Then he sits in the chair, uncaring of the mess and intending to make more of it, and slides his tongue and fingers back into Jon’s peach. The noise he makes is exquisite. There is no seed, just the parting of soft fruit, splitting ripe under Elias’ appetite.

“Eli— Dammit, Elias, you know what I meant!” Jon gasps in annoyance, nudging one of his knees at Elias’ shoulder impatiently. “If you aren’t going to eat me properly, then— _oh!_ ” his complaint cuts out as Elias bites into his thigh in admonishment.

“For someone begging me for help, you are awfully picky about how I do so, Jon.” Elias sighs, wiping at the dripping mess of his chin. Perhaps it is asking far too much for Jonathan Sims to accept a little pleasure in his life. Elias really has his work cut out for him.

“I— I am not _begging_ , you offered to help me and all you’re doing is faffing around down there. Get up here and eat me properly, if you mean to commit to it.”

Really, it’s that attitude that keeps this little gamble for Elias’ ritual engaging enough to continue. His Archivist keeps proving his worth in such surprising ways. That stubborn streak in him is such fun to rile up.

“Alright, alright. If you insist.” Elias sighs as if it’s a chore. “But I don’t want to hear anything about slowing down, if you’ve decided to forego the easy way.”

“You certainly won’t,” Jon sniffs, getting a hand on Elias’ lapel and tugging him up. He humors Jon’s insistence, following his tug to it’s natural conclusion at his chest.

He mouths at a nipple absently, making Jon huff, then abruptly plunges a finger into his belly, just below his ribs. Jon moans, tugging his head down further, keeping Elias’ arm at an odd angle. Slowly, he drags his finger through the comb, splitting Jon open clean to the hips, relishing the easy yield of his body under Elias’ hand.

Jon cries out beautifully, writhing on the table. Elias hooks both hands into the oozing slit and begins breaking off chunks of him, setting them aside as he goes. Teases with agonizing slowness and care, selecting each section and dragging the break of it out until Jon is panting steadily, every inch of him dripping wet. Fingers the rough edges and laps into the reveal of it. Pulls slowly, thrusting his wrist lazily back and forth with each handful of Jon. By the time Elias has him opened wide and exposed, Jon has relaxed into it with a soft sigh of contentment, lashes fluttering. Overstimulated and overeaten.

It’s a very good look on him.

Elias examines the cornucopia of his organs, strokes over the fresh, inviting fruit nestled inside Jon. Catalogues the different noises he makes— a low moan for breaking off the hanging grapes of a lung, a flinch and a breath and a twitch for plucking out a mango that is otherwise unidentifiable in its symbolic purpose. The comb at his sides slowly eases back into shape, centimeter by centimeter, but the intensity of the removal keeps Jon well sated and pliant.

Elias’ cock is aching by the time he gets to the main course.

Jon’s ovaries are little pomegranates, plump with seeds. Elias touches one reverently, follows the filigree curve of a spun sugar fallopian tube to the raw apple slice where a womb of flesh is not. It is a perfect cross section, showing five empty holes where seeds should be. It looks terribly empty like that.

Elias draws back slowly, Removes one glove with his teeth. Eases his belt open with his clean hand, slides open a drawer from the table. Retrieves the scalpel set Jonathan Fanshaw had gifted him, so long ago. Kept polished and waiting for use at Jonah’s whims. The good doctor had abandoned him, but _his_ Jonathan has never strayed from his side. Not without Jonah himself prodding him to do so. Like a fledgling uncertain of his own flight needing to be coerced into that first fateful fall.

Perhaps Elias has simply been too hasty, in cultivating him in that way. His Archivist is so much sweeter like this. Lovely, spread out under his attention; dewy, satiny skin, and the gorgeous marks of Jonah’s ritual. The gaping, bloodless cavern of his abdomen is an unexpected addition, but Elias is soundly taken with the drip of it.

He frees his hard cock before rolling open the surgical kit over Jon’s chest. Jon makes a small noise, a soft exhale of sound, and Elias is distracted by the tender pinch of his brows, the darkness he can see in the thin sliver of his eyes. Sets a gloved hand on his cheek and hushes him. His long, sugar dusted lashes flutter as Elias strokes his scars, marveling at the smokey syrup of his irises. Jon settles with a soft hum as Elias breaks off more comb at his belly, re-exposing the healing wound there. The open invitation of the seedless core of him.

The lancet was Jonathan’s favorite tool. It feels right, to use it now. The silver of the blade glints against Jon’s brass and gold in a way that sends a shiver down Elias’ spine, settles right into his cock. The first incision is easy— the blade pierces into the firm little fruit like water. Jon breathes out another sweet noise, hands fluttering restlessly on the tablecloth. Elias captures one, brings it to his lips for a kiss, a bite.

The wide half circle of the second incision brings with it a welling of bright red fluid. Elias sets the lancet down on the desk, its single spot of red a curious jewel, and carefully lifts the rind of the pomegranate away. The dark little seeds inside shine lustrously. One of them has been sliced into, and weeps red. Elias plucks that one out first, sets it on his tongue in a curious communion. It crunches, bursts. Acidic— a wonderful contrast to Jon’s flesh.

Then he plucks a whole one and sets it into the empty cavity of Jon’s womb, delicate as a jeweler applying a diamond. It fits beautifully. He fills out the settings entirely, all five. Savors the sight as only he can.

Then he sets his hand back on his cock and begins to stroke. Slow and languid; no rush. Squeezes Jon’s hand, then brings it up to cup his breast, pushing out a stream of milk. Elias lets out a breath from between his teeth at the too-soft indentation of his skin, the shifting of comb breaking under his thumb, the warmth on his fingers. Cums onto the perfect table setting, the plate he has served himself.

Elias’ cum drips like cream over the little seeds, and he rubs it further into them with a fingertip, smearing the leather of his glove with cum and honey. Jon whimpers and Elias rewards him with a kiss. Drowns in the pure sweetness of his mouth. Tucks his spent cock away and smooths a hand over Jon’s healing belly, tracing the melt of his flesh as it seals away the seed inside him.

He removes his dirtied gloves and wipes his face clean with Jon’s ruined shirt.Takes his time cleaning and returning Jonathan’s kit. Watches Jon’s body be repaired to perfection, the comb and fruit on the table rotting into ash in a moment. Closes the Leitner. Cradles his head for one last lingering kiss.

Jon’s slack, wet mouth goes completely pliant under him, and when Elias draws back he finds Jon to be flesh and blood once more. Whole and hale and covered in a mess of honey and milk. He exhales slowly, savoring the scent of honey that lingers in the air, floats on his tongue.

Jon remains asleep as Elias moves him from the alter of his table, cleans and dresses him in a soft nightgown. He settles easily into the guest bed, loose and unmoving. Elias tucks him in. Turns out the light. Walks away with a light step.

Perhaps nothing will come of this. Perhaps Jon will wake up as though nothing has happened other than a very strange dream, and nothing will happen. Perhaps the seeds Elias planted will bear fruit.

He certainly does not know what the future holds for Jon; the Eye does not deal in hypotheticals. But Jonah deals in constant hypotheticals, and he knows well the place he wants his sweet little Archive to fill in his future. He’ll be keeping the book at hand, as always. It is customary to return the invitation, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Elias nonconsensually uses a Leitner on Jon that turns his body into food. This causes him no pain, and he is capable of movement and speech, though his reasoning is impaired by the effects.  
> Elias bites and consumes pieces of Jon, which causes Jon pleasure and Elias gets off on it.  
> There is fingering and cunnilingus, but no penetrative sex. No flesh genitals make contact with food. I couldn't do it I chickened out.  
> Elias focuses on Jon's lactating breasts, and Jon expresses no distaste or dysphoria from that attention. He does protest vaginal sex and attention on his genitals.  
> Elias uses surgical instruments on Jon, though he heals from all injury in this state.  
> Elias cums inside him and places seeds in his uterus, and gets off on the idea of Jon becoming pregnant once the effects wear off; whether he does or not is left to reader interpretation.
> 
> If anyone has any tagging requests, I am always willing to add more.
> 
> [Join me on my nsfw tma twitter!](https://twitter.com/purrsimmons1)


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